Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville 10)

“He’s showing his hand,” I said. “I think he’s getting ready to make a move.”

She leaned back against the chair, her gaze pursed, studious. “And the world gathers in London. The vampires are gathering in London as well, you know. This conference of yours will be a tempting target for him.”

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

“Then it’s good you’re staying with Ned. He’ll do well by you. You can depend upon him and Emma to protect you.”

Ned was the Master vampire of London and an old friend of Alette’s. Very old, I imagined, though she wouldn’t give me details. Emma was her own protégé, a young vampire as well as a biological great—lots of greats—granddaughter. They’d offered me and mine a place to stay in London. It was Emma who convinced me to accept that offer.

“We don’t need that kind of protection,” Cormac said curtly. Tom actually took a step forward at that, and he and Cormac finally met gazes. Tom stepped back and stood at ease quickly enough that I wondered if he’d even moved. They both had too much self-control to want to be the one to start something. Alette’s lips pressed together, as if she was hiding a smile, amused at their behavior.

“Can we trust them? Really?” Ben said. He’d gone tense, and I rested a calming hand on his knee.

“You’re right not to trust vampires,” Alette said, not appearing the least bit offended. “Especially in the Old World. I had many reasons for leaving Europe—the Masters there are a big one. I find them … frustrating.”

“But Ned’s not like that?” I asked.

“Ned is, as you like to say, one of the good guys. But he’s a character—don’t let him charm you.”

Ben’s expression had turned sour—he generally had the same attitude about vampires that Cormac did. And yet, they kept listening to me when I insisted on calling them my friends.

“We’ll be careful,” I said. I always said that, and yet, I could only keep an eye out for the dangers I knew about. What would the conference throw at me that I couldn’t possibly expect?

Alette asked, “Do you know, will Dr. Flemming be at the conference? This seems exactly his milieu.”

“He wouldn’t dare show his face,” I said. “He’s notorious.” Dr. Paul Flemming had once headed up the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. If this conference had happened a few years ago, he would have been one of the people running it. Then his predilection for experimenting on unwilling human subjects came to light. The last time I saw him was the night he locked me in a cell during the full moon and trained a camera on me to broadcast my transformation live to the world. The video had five million views on YouTube, baby. He’d skipped town rather than face kidnapping charges. If the two of us ever ended up in a room together, I might get violent.

She said, “But it wouldn’t surprise you if he did

make an appearance, would it?”

“No. I’m afraid not.”

The night and conversation wore on after midnight, until Alette agreed that we ought to sleep, in preparation for the flight tomorrow. I took her up on her offer of guest rooms, and a ride to the airport bright and early.

Before we went upstairs, she took hold of both my hands and beamed. “Kitty, you’ve come so far since I first met you. I thought then that you might do well, but you have exceeded my expectations.”

“Thanks, I think. I just hope…” I thought a moment, then shook my head. “I just hope it all works out.”

“Oh, my dear, you live as long as I have you realize it never all works out. You’re giving the keynote address at the conference, aren’t you? Do you know what you’ll be speaking about?”

I wasn’t able to suppress a groan. “I wish people would stop asking me that. I’m going to work on it on the flight over.” I had to change the subject before she offered me suggestions. “How is Emma?”

“You’ll hardly recognize her. Give her a kiss for me, won’t you?”

“I will. Thanks, for everything.”

Chapter 3

IN THE end, the trans-Atlantic flight wasn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting. We just had to grit our teeth and settle in for a few hours. Like Tyler said, you had to not concentrate on being locked in a metal tube flying at an insane height and speed—you focused on going to London. I ate, slept, watched movies, slept some more.

Then night fell, and I was in London. We gathered our things and stumbled off the plane.

I hardly knew what to think. I was euphoric, exhausted, glassy-eyed all at the same time. I’d never been out of the U.S. before. I’d just flown across the Atlantic. I was in England. I’d just spent eight hours surrounded by people in a little metal box and wanted to run as far and fast as I could. I wanted to see a castle. I wanted to sleep.

Once off the plane, a wide corridor filtered us toward immigration. The crowd filed along like cows being herded to the slaughterhouse, making me twitch. Heathrow’s international terminal, a modernist structure of glass and girders, gave a deceptive impression of space, light, and freedom, until we reached the side room with a maze of barriers separating the lines of people into different areas, signage directing the lines, and a general air of resignation. The place smelled antiseptic and tired, wholly unnatural. Wolf tensed.

My new goal in life was to become wealthy enough to own a private jet and never have to travel like this again. What were the odds? Just another hour and maybe I could have a nice soft bed. A hot meal and a bed. A hot meal, shower, and bed. No, a drive around Trafalgar Square first, then a hot meal, shower, a cuddle with Ben—I’d never had sex in a foreign country before—and bed …